From Behind the Mask
by Sir Serendipity
Summary: When Darth Vader is confronted with the fact that he has a son, the man he once was begins to come alive again and the internal war he thought had ended years ago rages once more: dark versus light, evil versus good, Vader versus Anakin.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N **If there's one thing I like writing about, it's borderline personality disorder. :P

Since Vader is, for obvious reasons, difficult to read, and since his screen time tends to be brief Imperial March-laden scenes that are more concerned with developing the plot rather than the character, I thought it would be interesting to take a look at parts of _The Empire Strikes Back_ (and maybe _Return of the Jedi_, if I get that far) from his point of view. This is not just a rewriting of the film(s), however; I'm adding things and skipping things and overall taking plenty of creative license. ^^

Rated T only because I can't mentally reconcile Vader and a K rating. It may earn that T later on though.

* * *

Now is one of the rare times, in the miserable excuse for an existence that the past twenty years of my life have been, that I am glad of my mask.

My master cannot see my facial expression to glean insight as to my reaction; and although he can sense my emotions— and even that capability is dulled over such a large distance— he cannot read my thoughts. For both of these things I am grateful in this moment. I would never be able to face my master again if he had any idea how deeply the words he has just spoken have affected me.

"How is that possible?"

_I have a son._

Once the initial shock subsides, I am overjoyed— _no. _Anakin_ would be overjoyed, if he were still alive, but he is long dead,_ I remind myself sternly. _Luke is no more than another enemy to be annihilated._

It's no use.

I feel the claustrophobia wash over me like it always does in moments like these, when the embers of what once was Anakin flare into life deep within this lava-blackened soul of mine. My armour suddenly seems far too restrictive and the deep, measured breaths my suit methodically coaxes out of my charred lungs seem insufficient. My head is spinning and for some reason now, after two decades with mechanical legs, it disturbs me that I can't feel the floor I'm kneeling on. I put out an arm to steady myself— foolishly. Of course my suit communicates with my limbs and automatically adjusts my balance before my hand ever touches the ground. I clench my fist, all too aware of the metallic grinding of each of my joints, and try to pull myself together. My master is watching: I cannot allow myself to lose control.

_My son. Padmé's son._

One of the many interfacing needles in my mask pricks the flesh around my mouth in an unfamiliar way and I discover, to my disgust, that I'm smiling. _This is getting out of hand. _I close my eyes for a moment and try to quell the tide of emotions.

Fortunately it doesn't take long for my— _Anakin's _happiness to wane once I process the context of the news. I open my eyes again to glare through my eyepieces at the monster I swore my allegiance to.

I was planning on killing Luke anyway; Sidious has no reason to tell me this other than to test me. His smugness is written in every pallid crease of his gnarled face, and I want nothing more than to throw his stupid test back at him by acting like I am unaffected by this new information. I long to be able to casually dip my head and say, "He shall be eliminated, Master," before escaping to the _Executor's _Qabbrat.

But I can't.

I haven't eaten in years, but all the same I feel sick to my stomach as I look into my master's bloodshot Sith eyes and suggest that I try to convert Luke to the Dark Side.

Sidious smiles in the self-satisfied way that I knew he would, and I am reminded once again of how deeply I detest the man. He's well aware that Padmé is my only weakness and he exploits that chink in my emotional armour whenever he feels that I'm getting too ambitious and need to be put back in my place. I'm not even sure if he's telling the truth, but if there's any chance that Luke is my son, I can't lose him the way I lost his mother.

The Emperor plays along, whether to patronise me or out of a genuine interest in the possibility of Luke's conversion I can't say. In case the former is true, I secure some scraps of dignity by adding the caveat that Luke shall die if I am unsuccessful. The audience ends not a moment too soon and I make my way post-haste to my meditation chamber.

At last I can remove all this headgear. I lean back and muster a small, wheezing sigh, relishing the ability to breathe at my own pace and to see my world in shades other than red, even if stark white isn't much of a substitute. With a wave of my hand I shut off all the communications systems that surround me. In this moment I only want to be able to forget who I am, or even that I am anyone at all, and clear my mind. Once I have accomplished that, the Dark Side will bring Vader back into my consciousness by default and Anakin and all his pesky emotions will once again be no more than a memory— that is, until Palpatine decides to toy with me again.

_Anger. Yes, focus on your anger_. My hatred of the Emperor augments the power of the Dark Side in me and I can feel it grappling with my former self, gradually breaking him down and destroying hi—

"His comm systems are down. Should I knock or something?" a faint voice says from outside my chamber. Another voice joins it and they whisper together for a moment before the first individual clears his throat and loudly addresses me. "Lord Vader?"

_Piett_. The admiral may be more competent than his predecessor Ozzel but he's just as irritating; and like every other officer on the _Executor _he fails to understand the meaning of "private quarters." I reluctantly have my mask and helmet replaced, then open the chamber and turn to face Piett, hoping that he realises just how fortunate he is to be still breathing.

He consults me as to some trivial matter about asteroids and more than ever I itch to see him writhe in the throes of asphyxiation. The only thing hindering me is the knowledge that I would have to eliminate half the officers in the fleet to find a halfway decent replacement, which I can't afford to do presently. I save his demise for a later date, tell him to lead the Death Squadron out of the asteroid field, and dismiss him.

Steepling my fingers against the grill of my mask, I follow Piett with my eyes until the door to my quarters closes with a resounding thud and hides him from my crimson-tinted sight. This situation is of a more personal nature than anything I have encountered in all my years as a Sith Lord, and I will have to watch my step if I am not to become my own undoing.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N **T rating is now earned, methinks— not for violence/darkness like I was expecting, but for vague references to Luke-and-Leia-making. Anidala kind of creeps me out, but it was necessary, so...

Sorry for the boringness so far; it should start picking up a bit soon. ^^"

* * *

_"Ani!"_

_Even before I open my eyes, I know where I am. There's only one place in the galaxy that smells so heavenly, and only one person with a voice like an angel._

_I'm lying on the familiar settee on her balcony and she's smiling down at me, her hair catching the last rays of the Naboo sunset so that she appears to have a faint halo of light circling her head. We've made love here countless times before in a dreamlike golden haze, and seeing her here again brings each of those glorious memories, half devoured by the darkness I've lived in since their occurrence, back to the forefront of my mind._

_Just when I've decided that she couldn't possibly look any more beautiful right now, she laughs softly and proves me wrong. "You're asleep on the job again, Ani."_

_I reach out with my real hand to run my fingers though her wavy brown tresses, irked that she would bring up the very concept of work at a time like this. "I'll complete my mission in due time. I didn't know you were so very concerned about the Council's—"_

_She shakes her head and presses a brief kiss to my lips to cut me off. "Not that." Joining me on the settee, half on top of me and half intertwined with me, she rests her head on my shoulder and runs one hand down my bare chest, her breath warm against my collarbone. "I meant your duties as my husband. We're rarely alone together these days; this is hardly the time to neglect them." Even if her words themselves weren't enough to convince me that she intended her initial remark to be taken as a lighthearted tease, her tone drips with mischievous amusement and I feel her lips curl upwards against my skin._

_Relaxing again and returning the smile, I turn my head to murmur in her ear, "Your wish is my command, Senator."_

This is why I hate sleeping.

I had convinced myself that some natural rest would physically and mentally aid me in the confrontation with Luke that I knew was forthcoming, even though various operations and chemicals integrated into my suit make sleep largely unnecessary. I should have foreseen that it would only bring the usual dark premonitions and painful memories.

Despite the fact that my breathing has become somewhat more laboured after hours without my respirator, I can't yet bring myself to open my eyes and be immersed in the harsh white of my meditation chamber. Instead I start turning on comm systems one at a time to gradually bring myself back to the present through auditory means.

Asteroid damage repairs are proceeding on schedule. A few stray Rebel fighters were shot down by the _Devastator_. Someone found a dead body on ops level F. A routine drilling of the stormtroopers is to take place at 1600 hours. Boba Fett has located the _Millennium_ _Falcon_.

My eyes fly open at that last piece of information and I immediately signal for my mask and helmet to be lowered back into place. The bounty hunter's rasping voice informs me that Solo, the princess, and whatever other rebels they have with them are headed to Cloud City on Bespin.

Black durasteel closes over my face and an idea simultaneously surfaces in my mind as if it had been pumped into me along with the pressurised oxygen. If I could keep the rebel group there and put them in considerable peril, Luke would not hesitate to come to their rescue. I would not only be able to accomplish my mission of capturing him, but I would have taken care of those infamous misfits causing the Emperor—and me— so much distress recently. It's about time this ridiculous and seemingly endless chase came to a satisfactory conclusion.

Before I put my plan into motion, however, one potentially fatal flaw comes to my attention. How can I be so sure that Luke will emerge from whatever Force-forsaken system he has taken refuge in to save his friends? _A clumsy assumption,_I think, and prepare to abandon the idea, until I realise the subconscious reasoning behind it.

It's exactly what I would do.

Yes, therein lies his weakness and my advantage: reckless and self-assured yet all too willing to sacrifice everything for those he loves, he bears an eerie resemblance to how I—Anakin was at that age. Armed with the knowledge that Luke is a Skywalker and can thus be expected to follow many of the same patterns of behaviour as his father, I can orchestrate his turn to the Dark Side similarly to the way my master orchestrated mine. Finally I shall have a worthy apprentice and together, in congruence with the Sith Rule of Two, we can carry out the plot to overthrow Sidious that I've been nursing for years.

All of this, though, depends on my actions in the next few days—and my ability to control Anakin. I need to maintain enough of a connection with my former self to be able to reliably predict Luke's actions, but not to the point where said connection becomes a threat to my affiliation with the Dark Side. _It's a fine line to walk_, I muse as I contact the bridge and order a course change, _but an opportunity like this will never arise again._

Exiting my Qabbrat, I stride down the halls to my personal medical unit to receive my daily nutrient injection. On the way I flag down the first crew member I see and send him to research Cloud City for me since, although no one dares to actually complain, I sense that my all-too-audible presence is unwelcome in the ship's otherwise silent archives. In order to spring this trap on my prey, I first need to find some weak link that I can exploit to secure the bait.

I'm on my way to the bridge some time later to correct whatever blunders my officers have made in my absence when the man I sent to the archives contacts me with his findings. Apparently Cloud City is highly dependent on its thriving—and untaxed— tibanna gas mining industry, renowned for its casinos, and led by Baron Administrator Lando Calrissian, who won the place in a game of Sabacc.

_A gambler and a businessman, hm?_

Growing up in Watto's spare parts shop on Tatooine has its advantages: given a chance to barter, I always get my way, and make it look like a good deal into the bargain. I could charge a man his firstborn child for a second-rate moobian torsion valve and have him grovelling at my feet in gratitude. Yes, I know how to make people deals they can't refuse.

Beneath the scowling features of my mask, I allow myself the faintest of smiles.

_There's the weak link._


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N** Eep! I'm sorry about that delay! I was on holiday and unable to get to a proper computer. In fact, I'm _still_ unable to get to a proper computer, but I'm just so sick of this chapter lounging around on my iPod that I decided to try putting it up from here— "here" being, of course, the aforementioned iPod. With this in mind, please forgive any formatting errors; I had to write in aaaaall the HTML stuff myself because rich text editing doesn't work on here for some reason. Urg.

Excuses and whining aside, I have some actually relevant things to say.

-The next chapter is probably going to be the last film-based chapter. I have a few of the subsequent chapters written up (I'm going out of order, as usual) and they're all straight out of my imagination. Canon events will be referenced and the canon timeline is still in place, I just won't be actually narrating said events like I've been doing quite a bit so far. It's more of the stuff that happens in between.

-I've been hinting quite strongly at something all along, and in this chapter it's, like, walking up with a meaningful smile and reaching out its hand, but in the next one it's actually like HAITHAR and gives you one of those really obnoxious painful handshakes. Did that make any sense? That didn't make any sense. Gah, I need sleep.

-Believe it or not, this will actually have a happy ending. Yeah, I know, right? It's going to get pretty (read: REALLY) depressing soon, but, as someone once said: "Have faith, my love, everything will soon be set right." He was wrong, but I'm not. Yup.

I think that's it. Thank you for the reviews and such, and I _really_ need some sleep. -le jetlag- XP

* * *

_I've been injured by lightsabers plenty of times. I'm covered in ancient scars and generally have three or four fairly fresh burns at any given time. They don't really bother me. The thing with lightsabers is that the extreme heat of the blade cauterises the wound instantly, so the pain is over almost before you feel it._

Not this time.

There's a moment of confusion in which I have no idea what just happened to me. That's followed by a moment of muted joy in which I realise that I'm still alive and that Count Dooku no longer seems interested in dismembering me. Finally there's the moment of shock in which I understand that he already has_ dismembered me._

Only then does the pain set in, shooting fire through my every nerve: a pain so intense that I withstand it for only a few seconds before my world goes black.

I come back to reality wondering why I had a flashback at a time like this. The remnants of Anakin in my subconscious never revive so strongly when I'm not meditating or asleep, so it had to be a Force-inspired vision. For some reason the Dark Side wants me to remember the time I lost my right arm while fighting Dooku. I don't understand why, but I trust that the Force will make its motives known in the course of time.

I activate my infrared vision and watch the world as seen through my lenses shift and change colour, giving me the ability to see through the smoke and darkness of the carbon freezing chamber in which I stand waiting. Now is hardly the time to have conflicting goals, but I'm still torn between obeying my master and pursuing my own ambition of overthrowing him.

_I can hear Obi-Wan only faintly through the heavy-duty piloting helmet: "Now, ignite your lightsaber and block the training droid's attacks."_

"But Master—"

The blast shield's down and I can't see a thing, but I hear my new master's smile in his voice. "Use your feelings, Anakin."

I firmly reject the continuation of this memory. Now is also hardly the time to lose myself in the past— especially since my son has arrived.

_Force, the boy looks like me,_ is all I have time to think before rationality takes hold again. Luke sees me as no more than some heartless villain who not only rules the galaxy with a literal and figurative iron fist but kidnapped and ruthlessly tortured his friends; in the upcoming duel he will not hesitate to kill me if given the chance. I must be on my guard.

"The Force is with you, young Skywalker... but you are not a Jedi yet," I say, breaking the silence, to test his weaknesses. At that age, Anakin would be enraged by such a patronising remark; and, sure enough, Luke's mild irritation ripples through his Force aura, but he is not as arrogant as his father: he is aware of and accepts his own inexperience. Curiously, even though he is exceptionally Force-sensitive and should be able to feel my power, he is not afraid.

He catches sight of me and ascends the stairs, standing silently before me. Being this close to him, I sense the barely suppressed anger radiating from him in waves, as well as the power. He has the potential to be a great Sith, this one, but I don't dare offer to take him as my apprentice now. Sidious is more skilled in conversion to the Dark Side than I; after he unwinds all Obi-Wan's careful brainwashing then Luke will be ready to join me.

I come to this conclusion as Luke ignites his lightsaber and I reciprocate by drawing and igniting my own. With a resolute objective in mind now, it's all too easy for me to battle him into the freezing pit, and I remark as much to myself as I initiate the process with the Force and turn away.

_No. Something's wrong._

The Force and the constant data stream in my peripheral vision simultaneously alert me to Luke hanging from a mass of mechanical paraphernalia in the ceiling and I slash at a gas pipe to dislodge him. _Cleverer than I expected._ Gauging the extent of his training, I relax my offence and simply block his attacks, using the Sith technique of Dun Möch to test his resolve and mental discipline. It looks like I may have to persuade him to join the Dark Side myself after all, an undertaking that could be aided by telling him that he's my son—

_My son._

My focus is momentarily broken by a rush of emotion and Luke kicks me with all his strength in that same instant. Had I been more collected and able to react quickly I could have magnetised my boots, but as it is I tumble backwards off the platform and into the darkness below.

The weight of my prosthetic limbs and organs as well as a 120-kilogram life support suit probably could have sent me crashing through a few levels of the city. I regain my composure on the way down, though, and catch myself with the Force. Floating in midair and watching the vague red form of Luke dither above me, I have time to be disgusted with myself. "Use your feelings," indeed. My feelings are going to be the death of me if I'm not more careful from now on.

If I am to convince him to join me, I must first demonstrate the power of the Dark Side to show him how inferior his Jedi ways are, then contain the little spitfire long enough for me to speak with him. Above all, I must be ruthless. I cannot allow myself to go easy on him, and I must be prepared to kill him if it becomes necessary.

I lower myself to the floor and quickly head through the darkness— or at least, it would be darkness without that infrared vision; I'll admit that there are a few advantages to being a cyborg— around to a hallway connected to a chamber, the latter featuring a large window looking out into a shaft. Luke is headed toward that same chamber from the opposite direction and shortly after he enters my line of sight he responds to the sound of my respirator and discovers me. Now that I know the approximate level of his skills, the duel can begin in earnest.

It's a simple matter for me to lose myself in the Force and let my father do the thinking for me. I can feel the Dark Side bringing my every nerve, every circuit to life. In this state, my numerous disabilities and discomforts melt away and I cease to be anyone or anything at all, instead becoming a force of nature fixed entirely on the single goal of bringing down the enemy. Amidst showers of sparks, pieces of machinery are torn off the walls and hurled at the individual who, in my current state of mind, is no more than my opponent. Seeing that he is still holding his own against me physically, I redirect some of the flow of the Force through me to a psychological offence, pushing against his mental barriers to weaken his resolve. He is falling now, breaking before me—

—and so is the window behind him.

Anakin's response is so strong that I can almost physically feel him spasm inside me as Luke is gradually sucked into the wind tunnel. My heart, one of the few organs that remains entirely biological, starts hammering against the walls of my chest as if Anakin himself were contained in it and trying to escape to save his son. I turn, extinguish my lightsaber, and press myself against the wall of the chamber to escape the vacuum-like pull, tapping into the Force to crush these pathetic feelings that Anakin has for the boy. The sheer strength of his emotion is a threat to my control over myself. Digging my fingers into the machinery in the wall, I try to refocus. Despite my internal regulatory systems' best efforts, my body is still pulsing in time with the frantic, irregular pounding in my chest— the beating of a dead man's heart.

No. I cannot allow myself to think like that. Blaming Anakin for my lapses in self-control will only worsen the problem. I need to face my own shortcomings and overcome them; only then will I be able to become stronger.

As far as I know, no other Sith has ever struggled with his former self as much as I have. I'm ashamed that I let myself be influenced by the weak and foolish man I used to be, whose only worthwhile deed was turning to the Dark Side. I cannot allow him to hold me back like every other Jedi has tried to do in the past. Now I'm finally free, now there is no Obi-Wan or Jedi Council to limit my quest for power.

_Power._ On my next exhalation, I contort my throat muscles and push additional air through the tube inserted in my windpipe in an approximation of a sigh. There's no use deluding myself. I could have all the power in the universe, but the lone voice in the darkness of my mind will never be silenced. He is the one person who is immune to all my intimidation techniques and training in the Force, the one person I cannot escape from, the one person I will never be able to conquer.

Myself.

Breathe in, breathe out. I need to focus on the present, not the ghosts in my head. I slowly unclench my fingers and step away from the wall. Luke's Force signature is still strong; he isn't dead. One way or another, I must end this now.

Sensing my opponent's course and adjusting my respirator to provide me with just enough oxygen to keep me conscious, thus drastically quieting my breathing, I stride down the hallway toward Luke, my cloak catching the air resistance of my movement and spreading to fill the width of the corridor. This internal struggle of mine is no more than a petty, meaningless distraction that only serves to deter me from pursuing my glorious future as emperor of the galaxy, and Luke is merely a pawn in that grand scheme. Should he choose to join me, good. But if not...

I ignite my lightsaber, feeling my hatred flow from my fingertips and course through the humming crimson blade.

_If not, I'll kill him like I killed his father._


End file.
